


bring me with you

by Anonymous



Series: if it eases your pain [4]
Category: Rust (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Platonic Relationships, everyone give corpse a hug, should write a continuation, they just love each other so much and just wanna vibe together why did i write this plz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Sleep well, Sy. I love you so much.”
Relationships: Corpse Husband & Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: if it eases your pain [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110761
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64
Collections: anonymous





	bring me with you

**Author's Note:**

> I am.... disgusted at myself for writing this... why... they don’t need to suffer this much :( I’m sorry...

Gentle touch to his arms, he’s not sure of whom it belongs to, eyes and everything in his focuses only at them putting the body slant upon a neat row of firewood. 

Aforesaid eyes are almost dry when it is his time to come front —have been since Ray came home with no other soul but his, brought back a slack and bloodied body he respectfully protected under a cloth.

They said _he_ had lost too much blood, they said _he_ asked to be left to fight alone even only with _his_ knife, they said that _he_ had gotten each one of the enemies until the very last died in _his_ ever so delicate hands.

They said _he_ still came _home_. Even only with _his_ legacy.

Corpse never let wander his eyes from _him_ since then. Save his friend from too-curious of eyes, save _him_ from anything bad that looks upon his body.

And as he comes near, his legs quiver not because of the cold, one-two rolls of lonesome tear slips past the barrier he tried to build, it’s not stopping once he looks down upon the face he had wished to see smiling for the last time.

Truly only a wish now for the funeral pyre negates his forever-unreachable hope.

Greeting him is the cold facade of his friend. Hair windswept and down, matted with a trail of red to a pale span of skin, from his forehead to his ears. Sweat bead is no more there as he first saw him being carried down the chopper.

All that is left is serenity on his face. A sense of quietude only his friend had.

Corpse took an icy hand in his, a heart-numbing skin that used to bring calm to his every nerves, of his friend’s that he used to hold whenever an attack barged into his head. Frosty and limp now under his warm ones,  _what would it take to trade places? Please_.

He starts an absentminded rubbing as he takes the image of his friend for the last time, to be engraved in his mind for eternity until his time comes too —not long, most probably, since now he has no other reason to keep entertaining his already long-lost soul.

Takes the image of his friend, moves a rugged sleeve up to the matted red, rubs it off with his best although it does only little.

At least his friend’s less bloodied than before.

Wind passes when Corpse remembers of the piece of cloth ‘round his neck, makes it quick to take it off and wants to leave it there with his friend —if it ever does something to protect him even more from the frigid air.

Before recalling it would be burnt with the pyre. So a no it is. It’s going to stay with him until the day he dies.

Thunder rumbles far north as he puts it back, somebody’s voice a clear resonant from behind him, time is up, tells him to go back with his other friends as they set the fire ablaze.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to ever walk away even if it means a burning pain to his body. He doesn’t want to let go of the hand he has been claiming as the only thing able to moor him to reality.

Doesn’t want to ever leave _him_ alone  again, even if it means death.

Let him be. Let him be in death together with the only person he trusts with everything he has. Let him burn into ashes when it means he’s going to meet his friend again somewhere up there.

But alas, same gentle touch is there again, urging him softly to  _please_ , _let’s_ _go_ _back_ ,  he _needs to rest_.

So Corpse gives up. Squeezing the hand of his friend tighter for one second longer, releasing it with utmost reluctance that he’s regretting it just a moment after he steps back.

But  _he_ needs to rest. So Corpse keeps walking back until his legs  _refuse_ to move any further away from his friend.

Dark eyes set upon his friend’s closed lids when they bring torches around the pyre, light the fire under and he watches it turns into an inferno.

No more of _his_ voice to soothe the series of torturous terrors in the night. No more soft touches of _his_ when _he_ came home exhausted and gaunt early in the morning. No more of _his_ joy to light up a bad day with ease as _he_ would always do now.

But Corpse would _try_ to live, if only to make _him_ happy, wherever _he_ is now.

He would try, until he can’t anymore.

And at last, all he could say is a pained goodbye, a whisper under his breath as he let his friend to rest.

***

_Sleep well, Sy. I love you so much._

***

**Author's Note:**

> I’m definitely writing a different take on this but full of fluff and happiness and NO ANGST EVER.


End file.
